


From the Jedi Archives

by Spacebattles Stories (DragoLord19D)



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-02-12
Updated: 2013-02-12
Packaged: 2017-11-29 02:20:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 11,646
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/681605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DragoLord19D/pseuds/Spacebattles%20Stories
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>This will actually be a collection short very short tales that occur throughout the Star Wars universe, from the Old Republic Era up to so far the New Republic Era. I will be uploading additional 'chapters' stories every so often as a way to occupy my readers while I work on my other fanfics.</p><p>By: Hitotsune-Kozo</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

  
**DISCLAIMER:**  I do not own Star Wars, or anything related to it. The characters mentioned in these short tales are, with the exception of Mace Windu, mine. The Ten-Minute Tale concept was created by The Dude Person, and he has given me permission to put up the TMTs I've written. If you're curious about the Ten-Minute Tale concept, send him a message asking about it; I'd explain it here but as it's his concept it would be better for him to explain it.

**First In, Last Out**

**A Clone Wars Story**

A branch twitched slightly, as though stirred by the passing of one of the world's small, indigeneous fauna. However, that was not the case in this instance; this time, it was due to the passage of a clone soldier in Advanced Recon Force kit. That soldier was followed by another, and another, in a line of clone scouts making careful, thorough, and yet swift progress through the dense forest. Their armor was painted in random yet calculated patterns of orange, rust red, and sapphire blue; the better to blend into the world underneath the forest canopy. They were Karfa Squad of Krayat Company, argubly the best scouts in the entire 1249th Battalion.

And they proved it yet again as the 36-trooper squad's point man froze and held up a closed fist. Not one soldier moved until the point man had opened his hand and slowly waved it forward. As the squad began cautiously moving again, its sergeant began carefully dispersing Karfa Squad into six six-man teams. DC-15 rifles - and even some rare DC-16 carbines - were readied.

"Sergeant, Point Team," came a whispered comm over a tightbeam transmission.

"Point Team, go," the sergeant replied.

"We . . . have a situation, sarge."

"Report."

"We have a visual on a Sep base," was the reply. "Lots of clankers, tanks, and even a few squadrons of droid bombers."

"Can you confirm that?"

"I'll drop in for some chow and ask them, though I don't think they'll be too happy to me."

"This is not good," the sergeant said. "Numbers on the clankers?"

"The entire company would be outnumbered ten-to-one, sarge. At least."

"Karfa Squad, regroup and fall back to the rendevouz point. We'll inform Captain Fenn-"

"Clankers! On our six!" called out a clone trooper before a super battle droid put several dozen bolts of coherent light into his torso armor.

Jedi Knight Arayn Talkay stood outside the prefabricated structure that served as Krayat Company's on-world headquarters. Through the Force, the twi'lek Jedi sensed the approach of Captain Fenn, Krayat Company's commanding officer. Though in command of the entire 1249th Battalion, Krayat was the company she'd stuck with during her tour as the battalion's 'Jedi general.'

"Captain Fenn," she said as the building's door opened.

"General Talkay," he replied, his ARF helmet tucked under one arm. "I have some . . . disquieting news, ma'am."

"Karfa Squad hasn't reported in yet," she answered for him.

"Affirmative, General," Fenn confirmed. "They're only five standard minutes past check-in time, though."

"But they're always prompt about that," Arayn added for him. "You believe they've run into trouble."

"I'm sure they have, General. They are the best scouts I have-"

"-but they aren't equipped for heavy combat," finished Commander Nor, the ARC trooper Master Windu had attached to the 1249th.

"We can't spare another squad right now," Arayn said reluctantly, her desire to go after the missing squad evident to the two clones who had learned how to read the minutest facial tics.

"You can spare me," Nor said, locking his helmet into place and readying his Cyclone Rifle - a weapon similar to the DC-16 carbine but having a triple rotary barrel, extended stock, and double-sized power packs. Saluting Arayn Talkay and Captain Fenn, he sprinted out of the firebase as fast as he could move, following along Karfa Squad's patrol route.

Moving as fast as he was, it still took Commander Nor one standard hour until he heard blaster fire. Moving quicker, he came across a group of battle droids. "Party time!" he shouted, letting loose with his Cyclone. He'd taken out ten, as well as a single SBD, when Karfa Squad stumbled through the resulting gap.

"There you boys are!" he said. "You missed lunch."

"We overstayed our welcome," Karfa's sergeant said, "but they insisted."

"Fall back now; I've got you covered," Nor told them.

"Move it!" shouted Nor, slapping in the last power pack for his Cyclone and blasting a just-unfolded destroyer droid. Karfa squad had lost eleven troopers by the time Nor had reached them, and the fighting withdrawal back towards friendly lines had cost them seven more - half their strength now lost. That droideka, though, was the last of the closest units.

Or so they thought until two more Karfa ARFs died from blaster bolts fired by commando droids.

"Cover fire!" the ARC commander shouted, switching his Cyclone to full and scything it over the heads of Karfa Squad. "Sergeant! You and the rest of the boys fall back now! I've got these clankers!" Nor tossed aside his now depleted Cyclone and drew his twin DC-17 blaster pistols as five commando droids dropped into view; Karfa Squad vanished into the forest. Inside his custom helmet, Nor grinned and holsted one pistol - only to draw his vibrosword and thumb its power switch.

"Alright, you piles of scrap metal! Let me show you how to dance!"

Hours later, after Krayat Company had launched a spoiling attack against the Sep base and called in an air strike on it, the sixteen surviving members of Karfa Squad led General Talkay, Captain Fenn, and the rest of Krayat Company towards the last known position of ARC Commander Nor. What they found was a battlefield. Pieces of droids practically covered the forest floor; there were enough parts to account for five commando droids as well as few dozen battle droids. In the middle of it all was Commander Nor. He was down on both knees, arms slack at his sides. His DC-17 pistol and vibrosword were still loosely clutched in his hands. His armor was holed in multiple places, and his once white armor was stained red with his blood. On either side of him were the bodies of the two clones the commando droids had killed.

"He fought hard," Fenn said quietly. "One ARC trooper against five commando droids, three SBDs, and a dozen and a half battle droids. Why would an ARC fight so hard when he could've escaped?"

"He fought for his fallen comrades," Arayn said with absolute conviction. "He fought to make sure that Karfa got that intelligence back to us, and to protect the bodies of his slain brothers. He was the first one in, and made sure he was the last one out."


	2. Chapter 2

**Lost Light**

**An Old Republic Tale**

A scream ripped its way out of Asori Tal's throat as Force lightning ripped through her body, setting every nerve on fire and every muscle to spasming uncontrollably. It seemed to last for an eternity, but it was only a few minutes. When the electrical tendrils of dark side Force energy cut off, the twi'lek Jedi collapsed within the restraints that held her to the circular torture rack within the large throne room. A low groan escaped her cracked and bleeding lips, blood dripping down her chin to mingle with the purplish blood still winding its way down her ripped and torn clothes to join the puddle already on the chamber's floor.

"Poor little Jedi," said a voice to her right. "Screaming so soon? You were tougher than this a few days ago aboard my cruiser." A low, sultry chuckle followed. Then a tan, clawed finger reached out and stroked her face, the claw-like fingernail cutting into Asori's bruised and bloodied cheek. "You've been forgotten, you know," Darth Valia went on, stepping into the harsh white light centered upon the torture rack. "Your Jedi friends, those people you foolishly saved. Even the Republic you so loyally served. No one is coming for you."

"You're . . . wrong," Asori moaned. "My . . . . master . . ."

"Isn't here," the zabrak Sith said gently, almost lovingly. "Your faith in him and your fellow Jedi is admirable, but misplaced. What has it gotten you? What has it done for you?"

"Not . . . about . . . me . . ." she managed to to say, trying to hold on to consciousness in spite of the exhaustion, pain, and bloodloss. "About . . . the . . . . people."

"How admirable," Valia said mockingly, a smirk on her tribal-tattooed face. "Nobility." A chuckle left her throat, then became a full-on laugh. A laugh that contiued when the torture rack sent a series of powerful electrical surges through its shackles and into the bound Jedi they held.

"This is all that would help?" Jedi Master Erron Shorv said, dismayed, as he stared at the seven Jedi before him.

"I'm sorry, Master," replied Shek Ta'hii, her fur flattening with shame. "These are the only ones who were . . . . available."

"She means that we're the only ones who don't think you're suffering from grief-induced insanity," put in Bo Tyr, a devaronian Jedi with a reputation for supporting lost causes.

"You and Asori were close, which means you have a special connection through the Force," agreed Tosh'kay Vosh, a both Jedi best known for his impressive negotiating skills. Erron took a deep breath and let it out, running a hand through his gray-streaked brown hair as he did.

"Alright," he said. "This'll have to be enough. It'll have to be a swift, precision strike. Not that it would have been anything else." He looked at his strike team. "You all realize that this could easily be a one-way trip, yes?" He smiled when everyone nodded. Then he looked at his old friend.

"Did you find us a ship, Shek?" he asked. Her fangs bared in the togorian version of a huge grin.

"You could say that," she replied.

"Well, it could be worse," Erron said with a wide smile. Crouching in the hanger before him was a sleek, highly aerodynamic starship. A starship whose angular lines and unique design said it could only be a Sith vessel.

"You asked for a ship," Shek replied. "You didn't say what it had to be."

"True. Alright, everyone," he said, raising his voice. "Let's get onboard and go rescue Asori Tal from amongst the heart of darkness."

The door to the throne room burst open under the impact of four Force pushes. The shattered door was quickly followed by Erron Shorv, Shek Ta'hii, Bo Tyr, and Tosh'kay Vosh. Waiting for them in the chamber was a circular torture rack centered in a beam of light. And Asori Tal, bloodied and torn, was in the rack's embrace.

"Asori!" Erron cried out, shocked at his former padawan's current state. The four Jedi moved to her as quickly as caution allowed; though no one else seemed to be in the chamber, the Jedi had yet to encounter the Sith lord Darth Valia. Erron moved to release Asori as the others moved around to provide cover and warning.

Slashing his lightsaber at the wheel, he cut it in three places and took out its power source. Asori fell out at the same time the wheel's repulsors died. Erron deactivated his lightsaber and caught her in his arms. Probing her with the Force, he was even more shocked at the extent of the damage she'd suffered; she was, thankfully, still alive.

"Oh, Asori," he whispered, pulling her closer to him. "I feared I would be too late."

"You are,  _Master_ ," she murmured. He had only a second to realize the full impact of her words before the  _snap-hiss_  of an activating lightsaber heralded a searing pain that began in his abdomen and terminated between his shoulder blades. No one moved; they were too in shock to do more than stare. Asori pulled back and straightened up to a kneeling stance, an evil, bone-chilling smile on her face.

"Wh-Why?" Erron asked, blood coming out of his mouth now as life swiftly left him.

"Self-preservation," she replied softly. "And because I  _wanted_  to." She pulled her blood-red lightsaber out of her former master and face the three remaining Jedi who had come to rescue her.

A relatively short time later, Asori deactivated her lightsaber as her new master entered the throne room. Darth Valia moved around her new apprentice and wrapped an arm around the twi'lek woman's shoulders.

"Well done, my new apprentice," she said seductively.


	3. Chapter 3

**Odds Against**

**A Clone Wars Tale**

The LAAT/i gunship swooped low over the reddish-brown plains of the planet Geonosis, dodging blaster shots from tanks and droids, as well as the missiles fired from Hellfire droids. One near-miss burst next to the larty's troop bay, shaking the 12-man squad within.

"That was a close one," remarked CT-1579.

"Not close enough," said CT-1531 in response. "We still have the bay door."

"Cut the chatter," CT-1543 said as the larty swooped around and began slowing. As the compartment's door opened he said, "Orion Squad, deploy!" Six troopers leapt out of both sides of the gunship as it moved inches above the ground at just above 'maximum safe velocity for mobile troop deployment.' As soon as Orion Squad was out, the gunship accelerated up and away, taking more fire as it left. Hearing the characteristic discharge of a DC-15, Chief looked over to see CT-1313 spotting a STAP-mounted battle droid. Taking his cue from Thirteen's nod, he opened the squad channel and said, "Orion, move out! Dispersion pattern Delta-V!"

The twelve clones moved towards the last reported position of this flank of the droid army in three 4-man diamond formations. Each formation was far enough apart to cover a large amount of terrain, but close enough to provide mutual support to each other. Unfortunately for Orion Squad, they were all close enough for the shell from an Armored Assault Tank (AAT) to kill half of them outright and knock the survivors to the ground. As they remaining six clones slowly got to their feet, still recovering from the blast, they all heard the distinctive sound of the tank's main gun - which meant that it was too close to the squad. Chief barely had time to say, "Scatter!" before the second shell landed upon Sharp and Buzz. They were essentially vaporized by the round's direct impact, while the explosion's concussive force and shrapnel killed CT-1497 and CT-1402; Chief would've been killed, too, had Thirteen - who was still laying on the ground - not yanked him down. Chief tumbled down and landed on his brother's other side, with Thirteen's form protecting him from the brunt of the explosion.

Getting up again, Chief slung his DC-15 and grabbed Thirteen, pulling his brother behind some debris kicked up by the explosion. Propping him up against the rock, Chief unsealed his brother's helmet and removed it.

" _Vod_?" he said, using the Mandalorian term for "brother" that one of their training sergeants had taught them. " _Vod_ , are you alright?"

"I'll let you know," Thirteen groaned, coughing, "as soon as I answer the comm going off in my head." Chief smiled under his own helmet, then handed Thirteen's back to him. Looking over his brother, he saw that his armor was mostly a scorched black now, with only his left arm, leg, and some of the left side of the torso plating a soot-stained white. Chief paused for a moment to listen to the comm traffic, which wasn't good. The droid force that had hit - and mostly wiped out - Orion Squad had been merely a vanguard force for a Separatist counterattack. The single AAT, with two squads of battle droids and one of SBDs, had just passed their new position, and now the leading edge of a droid battalion was approaching.

"We can't fall back," Chief said slowly, "and we can't call in reinforcements. The AA fire would be too intense now. And the moment we do, the clankers will know our position."

"We have to attack," Thirteen said, putting his helmet back on and getting up into a low crouch, his DC-15 at the ready.

"Two clones versus an entire droid battalion, plus any other clankers in the area?" he replied. In response, Thirteen racked back the activation lever of his standard-issue rifle. Chief nodded his head, smiling under his helmet, and the two whipped out from behind cover - and found themselves looking at two squads of battle droids.

"Hey, look," the lead droid said, pointing. "Clones."

"That's right, clanker," Chief agreed as he and Thirteen opened fire, blasting four droids to scrap metal within seconds.

"That's not fair!" one of the other droids said. "Open fire!" All of the remaining droids swiveled their blasters at the two clones. Of course, Chief and Thirteen didn't give them much of a chance to aim; as Chief dropped his Deece and pulled out his smaller E-series blaster rifle, Thirteen dropped his own Deece and pulled out a pair of long-bladed vibroknives as he charged.

"Watch out!" cried a battle droid right before Thirteen removed its head. Then he was among them, vibroknives humming and flashing in the Geonosian light as he hacked up the droids. Chief blasted the others that were trying to draw a bead on his  _vod_.

"SBDs!" he shouted in warning, spotting the hulking, armored droids approaching. Thirteen reached into a compartment on his belt and pulled out a cylindrical device, pushing a button on it as he did so. "Popper!" he called back, throwing the EMP grenade towards the super battle droids and diving into a shell crater from the main gun of the vanguard's AAT. Chief threw himself backwards, trying to get out of the blast radius and by chance falling into the other shell crater as the grenade went off. The heads-up display of both clones' helmets crackled and blinked from the electrical surge that caused the SBD squad to shake, shudder and collapse to the ground as the EMP grenade overloaded and fried their systems. Both clones sprang out of their holes and charged in the direction the droids had come from. Both picked up DC-15s that had belonged to their fallen brothers, with Thirteen raising his rifle and blasting the droid sticking out of an approaching AAT while on the run. Chief leaped onto the tank's leading edge and helped Thirteen leap up to the turret. He grabbed his brother's Deece as Thirteen drew out his vibroknives and dropped into the tank. Moments later, the droid operator came flying out of the turret hatch in pieces. Chief climbed up to the turret, passed Thirteen's Deece down to him, then climbed into the AAT's turret seat. As he closed the hatch, both troopers heard a burst of static over their comms.

_"Orion Squad, report,"_  came the voice of Captain CT-4033.

"Chief and Thirteen here, sir," Chief replied. "The rest of the squad was wiped out by an AAT, sir."

_"There's an AA battery nearby that is preventing us from deploying additional forces,"_ Torch told them after a moment's pause.  _"Walkers are on the way to hold the line, but we need that battery taken out and you two are the only ones close enough."_

"On it, sir," Thirteen replied, swiveling the captured tank around to face the droid lines.


	4. Chapter 4

**Drifting**

**A Clone Wars Tale**

I look outside my starfighter's canopy and watch a piece of wreckage - it looks like a wing segment from a Hyena bomber but I'm not certain - drifts by. My scanners are still functional, but they show the same readings they have shown for the previous twenty minutes: nothing except debris. Earlier I had seen the  _Adamant_  and its two surviving escorts jump to hyperspace to escape the remaining Separatists ships. I'm hoping the  _Adamant_  will return, though I'm sure my life support systems will have failed by then. Right now my helmet is off and floating near my Torrent's damaged and sparking instrument panel; I'm depending upon my crippled starfighter's built-in life support systems, with my armor's stored supply as back-up, since they will last far longer.

My scanners and LSS are the only systems still functioning on my V-19 Torrent. Although I know by heart now the damage I took in the battle, I still look at my last functioning datascreen and review the readouts: Engines destroyed. Reactor 10% functional. Weapons systems inoperative. Navigational systems down. Structural integrity at 13% - which means that most of my fighter is gone. Life support currently at 73%. I lay my head back against the headrest, my eyes closing. I've set my life support systems down to the minimum I need to stay alive, so my cockpit is becoming chilly as the cold of space seeps in. Before I shut my eyes, I see that my canopy is starting to frost over thanks to the cockpit's chill and my breath. The Kaminoans, and our instructors, always told us clones that we were 'designed and built' to fight and die. I was, and always will be, willing to give my life for my brothers in service to the Republic I was created to defend. But I still want to live, so that I can continue fighting beside my brothers.

That thought stirs up memories. I am not one for reminiscing about the past, but this time I choose to recall events from my life. There is nothing else to do right now, after all. Thinking about brothers lost, of the events that have shaped my life and made me into who I am now, has to be better than staring out of a frosting canopy watching stars and wreckage drift by, waiting for death to claim me. One event, in particular, is standing out in my memory: the first time the instructors put my squadron and I in flight simulators. I had been decanted for four years by that point . . . . .

_. . . . We had just been removed from our flash learning chambers for additonal physical/interactive instruction. Our instructors, with the Kaminoan monitors following, led us to a room filled with row upon row of spherical pods. The entire group was led, one at a time, to a pod and placed inside. When I was placed and sealed within my pod, I felt a moment of panic, for there was no sensory input at all. Then lights and displays began flickering and blinking, then I was suddenly sitting within the cockpit of what I instantly recognized as a Low-Altitude Assault Gunship/infantry in the midst of a battlezone. The heads-up display was flooding me with an overwhelming amount of input. It was fight or die, and I wasn't about to let my brothers down . . . . ._

. . . . I had succeeded extremely well that first time, and every time thereafter, no matter the scenario or gunship model the simulators put me in . . . . .

_. . . . After a few years filled with simulator runs, class room sessions, flash-learning, and growth acceleration chambers, they introduced us to the actual gunships we'd been sim-training on. There had been rumors of a prototype starfighter coming out soon running through the clone pilots' barracks, and my squadron was informed that we would be among the few chosen to fly them. They were called V-19 Torrent starfighters, and were with a blaster cannon on each wingtip and a pair of concussion missile launchers in the fuselage. In addition to the LAAT/i and LAAT/c gunships we had been training on for most of our lives, these starfighters would be the weapons we would use to serve the Galactic Republic and our Jedi Generals, though as far as I had known then, not one of us clones had seen a Jedi; we'd only heard about them. The selected Torrent pilots, we were told, would begin immediate simulator training on the starfighter, after which we would begin training on the actual gunships we'd used in simulation. Right then and there, we all knew we would do what we were meant to do. The Mandalorian instructors, who taught our physical training segments, said that we would only be serving the Republic and the Jedi; we would only be fighting for our brothers, those who would stand with us in the crucible of war. My wingmate since our decanting was CT/P-3527; we all called him Ripcord because of his affinity for ejecting from his crippled larty in simulations; he's improved greatly since then, only ejecting once every ten simulations now. To the Kaminoans, and the non-Mandalorian instructors, I was CT/P-3572. To my brothers, I was Link because I always kept the squadron linked together during battle . . . . ._

. . . . Even among our squadron brothers, Ripcord and I were close. In simulations, we rarely used comms to communicate with each other; we always seemd to fly in perfect unison, anticipating each others' moves.

Then came Geonosis . . . . .

_. . . . The Republic assault ship_ Retribution _had broken through a cloud layer and into a maelstrom of laser fire and missles. I looked over my instrumentation in preparation for the call to launch, then checked in with the clone troopers in my LAAT/i's troop bay; though fully qualified on the V-19 Torrent prototypes, our squadron had been recalled to the gunship squadrons when the call came for immediate deployment to a warzone. I checked in with Ripcord and found he was ready as well. Then we got the launch signal: Master Yoda needed our infantry brothers deployed on the surface ASAP. Once the_ Retribution _'s launch bay doors opened, we were out of them faster than a bolt out of a repeating blaster. Our squadron was to deploy the 143rd Company to take advantage of a momentary gap on a flank of the droid forces on Geonosis. Ripcord and I were transporting Ursa and Orion Squads, respectively. Surface to air fire was heavy, and not just from the dedicated anti-air units; AATs and Hellfire droids were firing at us, as well. My gunner triggered our larty's heavy missile launchers, taking out at least a battalion of battle droids. A barrage of missiles flew right towards us, and I executed a barrel-roll to evade them. Ripcord wasn't so lucky; he was a split-second too slow and the missiles blew off the starboard wing of his larty . . . . ._

. . . . A lot of my brothers died that day, and I include the troopers and commandos when I say that. I check the status of my life support systems again. They're down to 37%, so I have roughly forty-five minutes of air left in my cockpit, then I'm down to the half a standard hour in my armor's LSS. The reactor is starting to fail, as well, which means I might have less time than I expect right now. I reach for my helmet, putting it on and locking it in place. Its seals will only engage if the armor is exposed to complete vaccuum, so I am still relying on my Torrent's now questionable LSS. Thinking about my starfighter starts me thinking about the battle that has left it crippled and dying . . . . .

_. . . . The_ Adamant _had just left hyperspace when the scramble alarms sounded. Sep ships were in-system and burning towards the task force. The three escorting destroyers were moving to interpose themselves between the cruiser and the CIS ships, but the Seps had launched droid starfighters and bombers - Vultures and Hyenas. CT/P-5590 (Razor) came alongside me as we headed towards our Torrent starfighters._

_"No rest for the weary, eh, Link?" he asked with a grin._

_"Rest? We only rest when we're dead, remember?" I replied, returning his grin._

_"Then let's keep moving,_  vod _!" he shot back. The 1501st Squadron - to which Razor and I had been attached for the last several months - was the ready-five squadron, so we were out in the black and driving towards the droid fighters and bombers in less than five minutes (we had a reputation to maintain, after all). Our brothers and us were ordered to buy time for the task force to calculate coordinates for a new hyperspace jump. Within seconds of leaving the_ Adamant _'s hanger, we were in the thick of battle, twisting and turning and corkscrewing through space, droid starfighters, Torrents, and ARC-170s swirling and exploding. Razor and I managed to stay together, swapping the lead constantly and covering each other's six. What happened next was a freak accident that couldn't have been anticipated nor avoided. Razor had just taken out a Vulture droid and was dropping back to cover my six as I moved forward to take the lead when a flaming and sparking Hyena droid bomber spiraled in out of nowhere and slammed into his Torrent's ventral fin and slamming through the cockpit. I juked right and relative down to avoid the debris . . . . ._

. . . . A beeping sound pierces the silence, jarring me out of my memories. Looking, I see that my starfighter's life support is about to fail. I quickly seal my armor as the display clicks down to 'zero air reserves available.' Now I have only half an hour left to live. Thinking about that depresses me; going in to every battle I knew that I always stood a good chance of being killed, but that would have been quick and somewhat painless. This . . . . This would be slow and prolonged as my helmet's HUD displayed the decreasing amount of air reserves in my armor. All of us know our number will come up sooner or later; but we never want to know precisely when we're going to die. I am pretty sure that I will pass out before my armor's air supply runs out, though.

I wipe off my canopy just in time to see the blown and ripped out hull of a V-19 Torrent drift by. With a start, I recognize the markings as those of Razor's Torrent.

"You alway said you'd watch my back,  _vod_ ," I say to my friend's dead fighter. "Nice to see that not even death could make you break a promise." I don't know if I believe in ghosts or not, but I decide to take comfort in the fact that, at least in spirit, I won't die alone . . . . .

I snap awake as an alarm chimes in my helmet. I feel surprise at the realization that I'd fallen asleep. According to my helmet's HUD, I now have five minutes of air left. And as though his ghost is waiting and watching out for me, I see Razor's starfighter still drifting alongside mine. Flashes out of the corner of my field of vision draw my attention. They look like the flickers of pseudo-motion that mean ships leaving hyperspace, but I think that it is probably oxygen deprivation. I also imagine I see the the emergency beacon in the stern of Razor's Torrent suddenly switch on. And as I begin losing consciousness, probably for the last time, I believe I see the distinctive drive flair of an approaching LAAT/c gunship . . . . . . . . .


	5. Chapter 5

**Courage or Insanity**

**A Clone Wars Tale**

"Take cover!" a clone trooper shouted as the round from a Heavy Artillery Gun impacted close to the Republic lines. A squad of troopers was blown back by the explosion, but only seven of them climbed back to their feet. Four of them rushed back to the shattered barricade while the other three dragged their fallen brothers behind cover.

"I want heavy fire on that position," Jedi Master (now General) Bel Rof said calmly, though he yearned to rush to his soldiers' aid.

"The heavy walkers don't have the range, sir," Captain ARC-093 - or "Frost" as his brothers call him - replied, his helmet held under one arm.

"I know," the Jedi agreed, "but it'll force them to reposition that HAG, buying my men a few more moments." Frost smiled at both the general's use of clone slang, and his concern for the troops of the 744th Battalion (also called the Blitz Battalion). It was what made him a leader, rather than just a general. Bel Rof looked over at Frost and asked, "How is the evacuation going?"

"They need more time, sir," he immediately responded. "And without reinforcements, we won't be able to hold out long enough."

"The  _Ranger_  relayed my call for help," Bel told him. "They can't support us themselves because of the Sep ships preventing them from returning to orbit."

"Sir, we only have two heavy walkers left, along with two squads of recon walkers," Frost reminded him. "And we're down to two and a half companies of troopers - including the Advanced Recon Force troopers." He fell silent as the the two AT-TEs fired their main guns in the HAG's direction.

"I know how much we've lost, Frost," he spoke into the silence. "And we both know what stands to be lost."

"You know we'll do our part, General," the ARC trooper said in reply.

"We all will," Bel Rof agreed. "I just hope that this is all worth the price we'll pay."

"Our mission, General, is to hold the clankers here," Frost said. "But what we're actually fighting for are the brothers fighting beside us."

"Well put, Captain," Rof said softly. Then his expression changed ever so slightly. No other sentient being would have noticed it. But to a clone, raised with others who all looked the same, it was a noticable as a floodlight in the dark.

"What is it, General?" Frost asked.

"We're looking at this the wrong way," Bel answered slowly. "There are no options for  _holding_  this position successfully. When a situation seems to have no choices, it's time to look at it in another light."

"This is absolutely crazy, sir," Frost said as the All-Terrain Recon Transports were prepped. Two of the AT-RT pilots had been injured three days ago, so Bel Rof and Captain Frost would utilize their walkers. Not that the Jedi master would have stayed behind, anyway.

"Glad you approve, Captain," Rof replied with a grin. Just then, an ARF trooper trotted up on his walker and dismounted.

"CT-2637 reporting, sir," the clone said. At Rof's look he added, "Sorry, Sir. Sergeant Rocket reporting."

"Everything ready, Sergeant?"

"Absolutely, General," Rocket replied. "My boys are ready for this."

"A frontal assault, against a very superior force, with far heavier firepower, using only twenty-two ARF troopers, a single ARC, and a Jedi general. That, no way whatsoever, sounds suicidal."

"A projection of strength and confidence is just as lethal as a turbolaser, Captain," Bel Rof reminded him. "Now, let's mount up and scrap us some clankers!"

The two All-Terrain Tactical Enforcers moved up to bring the droid force into range of their main guns as twenty-four recon walkers sprinted past them. The rest of the battalion - what was left of it, anyway - was falling back to prepare a better defensive position closer to the city. It appeared as though two full squads of ARF troopers were charging the Separatist line, though one was wearing ARC trooper armor and another had the brown robes and lightsaber of a Jedi on his armor. With the speed of the AT-RTs and the droid army's continued advance towards the Republic battle lines, it wasn't long before Bel Rof's strike team was in range of the battle droids - including rocket-equipped super battle droids. At the point at which the droids would have fired, their front ranks blossomed with explosions as the distant AT-TEs opened fire with their main cannons, at extreme range, as fast as the capacitators could recycle. They bought the general and his team just enough time to reach the leading edge of droids.

But they didn't reach it unscathed: rockets had taken out two walkers, and an SBD had shot a trooper out of a third. Bel Rof aimed his walker at an Armored Attack Tank and sprang off just as the bipedal scout machine slammed into the larger tank at full speed. Bel flipped and twisted through the air, dodging blaster fire as he came to a Force-assisted landing. Amber lightsaber igniting, he drew as much fire to himself as he could, intending to protect his soldiers. He sensed Captain Frost landing next to him, his amber- and sliver-trimmed armor streaked with blaster burns and his twin-tube grenade launcher's barrels glowing red as it fired at is maximum rate.

Twin blaster bolts seared past the Jedi's head as Sergeant Rocket fired his walker's lasers and blew apart an SBD. "Got your six, General!" the clone trooper shouted, whipping around and taking out two more battle droids. Through the Force, Bel sensed imminent danger and broke his unique S-curve lightsaber handle in half and ignited the  _second_  lightsaber. He began picking off an increasing number of blaster bolts as the barrels of Frost's grenade launcher melted shut from heat-induced warping. The ARC trooper dropped his now-useless weapon and drew his twin DC-17 pistols.

"I'd say we have their attention, General!" Frost shouted, snap-firing his pistols while trying to avoid getting hit himself. Bel Rof didn't reply, but he didn't really need to; especially when Rocket finally lost his walker to a destroyer droid he'd kicked. Reaching out with the Force, he grabbed the sergeant and yanked him back before an AAT blasted the spot where he'd landed. Having lost his DC-16 carbine in the process, Rocket pulled an arm-length durasteel rod off his back and pressed two switches on it. The first caused smaller-diameter rods to extend from each end of the rod, making it a staff, and the second caused electricity to spark and crackle along those rods.

"Thanks, General," he said as the droids began closing in, momentarily holding their fire.

"Anytime, son," Bel Rof replied, lightsabers twirling around, ready to deflect blaster bolts. "Anytime."


	6. Chapter 6

**Keeping a Promise**

**A Pre-Clone Wars Tale**

Jakran Boken walked down the ramp of his starship and onto the durasteel surface of Landing Pad 14-3. Located in the Notoree Landing Zone of one of Formulca's seven major 'super cities,' it was the landing pad he always seemed to get whenever he came home.

_Home_ , he thought, a surprisingly content expression on his face - though the dockworkers now coming to secure his ship to the pad only saw the blank-helmeted visage of a Mandalorian. Formulca may have been a relatively peaceful world, but its location near a well-known hyperspace route made it ideal for business and trade - legal and otherwise. Heading into the administrative and security center, he ignored both customs and security and went straight to the turbolift bank. Shortly thereafter he was taking a tube train into the city itself. The journey to the apartment he shared with his wife and daughter wasn't long, but it gave him time to contemplate the strange and wonderful turn his life had taken.

After leaving the train at Lenskai Station, Jak walked the much shorter distance to the 'middle-class' sector block where he and his family lived. But the closer he got to hoe, the more his instincts said something wasn't right. By the time he reached the door to the apartment, he was moving stealthily and had drawn the cut-down barreled, pistol-grip carbine he favored. Palming the doorlock, he whipped into the living room with blaster at the ready. The sight he found shocked him: the gref wood low table was broken, the holoviewer shattered,plastcrete gouged out of the walls. And two corpses. Kneeling next to them, he saw that they were both male, though one was a rodian and the other a weequay. He also saw the trail leading towards the bedrooms.

"Surra?" he called out, his voice altered by his  _buy'ce_  (helmet). He stood, his hands clenching the modified carbine, and began walking further into his home.

"I'm here, Jak," he heard her say from the short hallway, though her voice was wweak. When he turned the corner, he saw why. She was sitting on the floor, wedged up against the door to their daughter's bedroom. One hand was holding another of his cut-down blaster carbines, the other was clutching her abdomen. There was a dark red stain on the cream-colored shirt under her hand. Jak had seen far more than his share of injuries and death, and knew at a glance his wife's injury was fatal. Removing his helmet and dropping it and the gun to the floor, he went and knelt by his wife's side, drawing her into his arms. He had a galaxy's worth of questions, but only one that mattered in the time she had left.

"How is she?" Jak asked softly.

"Still sleeping, my love," she replied, smiling. "She wanted to show her father what a good girl she is." Her smile faltered and left. "Jak, you will take care of her, won't you? Promise?"

"She is my  _ad'ika_ ," he replied. "I would be  _dormanda_  if I didn't. I promise."

"There will come a time when you will have to make a very hard decision," she told him, her voice fading as her life did. "I know you will do the right thing, but you must remember your heart . . . when  _that_  time comes." She had  _that_  tone in her voice that told him what she meant, that what she'd first and just now were two different things.

" _Mhi solus tome, mhi solus dar'tome, mhi me'dinui an, mhi ba'juri verde_ ," he softly told Surra as she died. It was the Mandalorian marriage contract. For a few moments, Jak stayed kneeling there. After gathering himself, he said one more thing: " _Ni su'cuyi, gar kyr'adyi, ni partayli, gar darasuum_. Surra Jento." It was the Mandalorian ritual to remember those who had died; he would repeat it everyday for the rest of his life. He carefully laid his wife down, stood, and opened the door to their daughter's room. He knew that he had to move quickly . . .

In the two years since his wife's death, Jak had never returned to Formulca. He and his daughter had lived a nomadic life, his ship their only home. When he'd gotten her out of her room, she'd been sitting in her bed staring at him as he had walked in.

"What does that one do,  _buir_?" she asked, pointing at the instrument panel.

"It's the shield generator control,  _As'ika_ ," Jak replied with a smile.

"Should you put it on?" she asked.

"Only if I'm expecting trouble,  _ad'ika_."

"I think it should be on," she replied with a firmness common to all four-year-olds, pushing the button before he could stop her. The shields activated a split-second before two Cloakshape fighters dropped out of hyperspace and blasted at the now-activated forward port shield. Fortunately, the navicomputer finished its calculations at about the same time. Throwing the  _Gai bal Manda_  ( _Name and Soul_ ) into a quick evasive spiral, he pulled the hyperdrive lever. And as the ship slipped into hyperspace, Jak Boken turned to stare as his daughter.

A week later, Jak was on Coruscant. His daughter was currently with an old friend and  _vod_  who was fortunately on-world right now, while he did what he needed to do. Walking into Dexter's Diner, he looked around a moment before spotting the man he'd come to meet. He was dressed, not in his standard blue-tinted white with black and green accents  _beskar'gam_ , but in loose dark green pants, black boots, a simple white shirt, and a black rancor-hide duster. Walking over to the booth, he slid in across from the man and ordered some of Dexter's signature sliders.

"Never thought I'd see you again, Jak," the human said with a smile. "I was surprised to get your message."

"I need your help, Bel," he said softly.

"You know you can count on me," Jedi Master Bel Rof said as the waitress, Hermione Bagwa, brought Jak's sliders. He ignored her transparently flirtatious hints and began eating.

"I was married seven years ago," Jak said a moment later. "Three years later, we had a daughter." He took a steadying breath, sensing Bel Rof's quiet but intense interest. "Two years later my wife was murdered."

"I'm sorry, my friend," the Jedi said. "I'm sure her loss has made the universe a darker place." Bel hesitated, then asked, "Who was she?" Instead of replying, Jak reached into a pocket inside his duster and laid an archaicly designed lightsaber on the table.

"That . . . Where did you get that?" Rof asked in shock.

"It was my wife's," Jak said quietly. "The only thing I kept of hers to remember her by. As is the  _Mando_  way."

"Why wait until now to bring your daughter here?"

"A week ago, my ship was attacked by hyperdrive-equipped Cloakshapes. My daughter turned the shields on right before they fired. Before that moment, I hadn't noticed any Force-tendencies in her."

"You know what will happen, don't you?"

"If she goes to the Jedi Temple, I won't be allowed to see her again," Jak acknowledged. "But I can't train her to use the Force. You can."

"Not all Force-users come to the Jedi," Rof told him. "Quite a few don't even know they have Force potential. To others, they would seem to be incredibly lucky or skilled."

"I want to raise her as a  _Mando_ ," he replied slowly, "but-"

"You believe she should learn both sides of her heritage," Bel interrupted. Then the older man sighed. "If she becomes a Jedi, Jak, the only thing she'll know about Mandalorians is what the Jedi know."

"I know. I've recorded a message for her," Jak said. "I'm entrusting it to you, Bel, because I know you're a man of honor - despite being a Jedi."

"And you are a decent and honest man, Jak - for a Mandalorian," Bel responded with a chuckle. Then the humor vanished. "I give you my word, my old friend, that when she's old enough to understand, I will explain everything to her - regardless of what the Council says. And I will leave a message of my own, in case anything should happen to me. And when the time is right, I will make her my Padawan."

Jak Boken left his daughter at the Jedi Temple, in the care of Bel Rof. In addition to his message, he left her an amulet marked with the Mandalorian crest on one side, and the icon of the Jedi Order on the other. Gazing out of his ship's bridge screen at Coruscant, he whispered, "One day we shall meet again, my  _ad'ika_. Take care of yourself until then . . . Askara." Then he jumped to hyperspace.


	7. Chapter 7

**Rite of Passage**

**A Tusken Raider's Tale**

There are few moments in the life of one of the Sand People as important as the Rite of Passage. A traditional coming of age ceremony, it pits a single 'Tusken Raider' (as the 'civilized beings' on Tattooine called them), their bantha, and gaderffi (or gaffi stick) against of one Tattooine's most dangerous predators. Many were more than respectable enough to grant adulthood, but D'shik'yalo knew only one would suffice for her: a krayt dragon. The daughter of the chieften of the Hukhuk Sah Norgak Tlowr (Those Who Wander the Desert) clan, she became the eldest child when her brother died during his Rite several years ago. The Hukhuk sah Norgak Tlowr were one of the human clans of Sand People, and one of the few to live an almost purely nomadic existence.

Shin'yai snorted and rumbled in agitation, so D'shik'yola reached down and rubbed the giant beast's great shaggy head affectionately and spoke soothingly to her. She and her bantha were no strangers to traveling the Great Desert (as her people referred to the vast tracts of desert that made up a lot of Tattooine), as her people's clan name showed. The males and females of the clan, though differing in dress as adults, shared all of the duties of both the camp and the hunt. Such was their way: all members of the clan working for the clan's survival.

As she sat back up, the sun was momentarily eclipsed by her gaderffi. The axe-head of her gaderffii, to be truthful. Part of the Hukhuk sah Norgak Tlowr's rite of passage was the completion of the weapon that was part and parcel of the Sand People and their culture. To her knowledge, Those Who Wander the Desert were the one of the few, if not the only ones, who connected completing a gaffi stick with the coming of age ritual. Of course, the only contact her clan had was limited trade with the other clans of the desert wandering tribe of Sand People.

A slight change in the air caught her attention and drew her gaze to the 'path' before her. There, just ahead of her, were the moutains that surrounded the Jundland Wastes, home to the a large number of tusken tribes. And, also, home to the krayt dragons she'd come to hunt. Underneath her kahgef (the tusken term for the mask/respirator that all of the Sand People wear), D'shik'yola wore a smile of eagerness and anticipation. She urged Shin'yai to a faster pace, wishing to fully begin her rite of passage. If she failed, being the last child of her parents, her father would no longer be chieften and banished as being too weak to lead and support the clan.

Though D'shik'yola was impressed with the mountains and passes around the Jundland Wastes, she thought that the desert lands she called home were even more so. The rough jaggedness of the mountain lands lacked the simplicity and harshness of the open desert. But she still kept her guard up, knowing that just like in the Great Desert, danger could come from anywhere. Stopping Shin'yai for a moment, she dismounted from her faithful companion and proceeded on foot. Pulling her gaderffii from her back, she gave a slight twitch of her hand and moved ahead, hearing the shuffling sound indicating her bantha was following.

While her skills in tracking and sign-reading were developed and honed in the ever-shifting sands of the desert, it wasn't too difficult to apply them to her current hunting ground. And it didn't hurt that when a krayt dragon moved, the signs it left were rather obvious to an experienced tracker, even in this hard, rough land. And she seemed to have found a large one, which would increase her standing back in the clan. Her hunt took a few hours, but she eventually found the lizard's lair. And it was home.

With a roar like a great starwalker, a massive head poked its way out of an even more massive cavern. As it wove into view, D'shik'yola felt great fear. The story speaker of the Hukhuk sah Norgak Tlowr sometimes spoke of ancient and terrible creature that few have seen and lived - and none survived who fought the monster. It was called Gurghak Tkogh, the Eater of Souls. Its head alone was bigger than the biggest bantha she'd ever seen. With words and gestures she told Shin'yai to back, though from experience she knew the beast wouldn't go far. With a bone-chilling ululation, D'shik'yola charged the massive krayt dragon with her gaderffii raised high. The creature heard her cry and turned its head to regard her for the moment it took her to get within striking range. Once she was close enough, the Gurghak Tkogh whipped its head with impossible speed, its jaws opening to swallow her in one bite. Fear-fueled adrenaline powering her, D'shik'yola whipped the sharpened point on the other end of her gaderffii into the ground, springing into the air, her momentum pulling her weapon free as the dragon's jaws snapped close where she had been standing.

Flipping through the air, she landed on the creature's monstrous back and ran along its length to leap off and into its cavernous home. It turned to follow her faster than she expected, but not fast enough to catch her right away. She hurried through the unfamiliar cave system, hearing the Eater of Souls chasing after her, its monstrous roar echoing throughout the halls of stone and rock. She felt her garments catch on something, felt herself being lifted, and realized the krayt dragon had her. Swinging her gaderffii, she sliced through her robes, exposing some of her pale, naked flesh. The move not only freed her from the lizard's jaws, but caused her to stumble and fall between two upthrusting spears of stone and rock.

The krayt dragon tried to follow her but only its head barely managed to squeeze through the gap; its massive shoulders slammed into the pillars with enough force to shake layers of dust from the far ceiling. D'shik'yola knew it was trapped, at least for a moment, when it tried to yank its large head out and only succeeded in knocking more dust and some rocks down. Staring at Gurghak Tkogh as it snapped its jaws, roaring, trying to escape, she got to her feet and ran at its head, whipping her gaffi stick around. It tried to bite her, to swallow her, but she threw herself into a roll  _just_ under its closing mouth. As her feet hit the ground again, she pushed herself up as hard and fast as she could, screaming an unarticulate cry of rage and fury. As the spear-like end of her incomplete gaderffii pierced its lower jaw and let a river of blood flow out, drenching her, she wondered if Shin'yai was alright . . .

A day later, D'shik'yola was riding away from the mountains. In a sack hanging from Shin'yai's saddle was the largest dragon pearl she'd ever seen or heard of. Afficed to the spear-end of her gaderffii was the middle horn from Gurghak Tkogh's head. Behind her and her bantha, in a rope basket made from the ropes she'd brought along, was the Eater of Soul's great head. D'shik'yola had repaired her torn clothes with strips of cured hide from the monstrous krayt dragon.

She knew, when she returned to her clan, that the world she'd left behind would far different now.


	8. Chapter 8

**Ghosts of the Force**

**A Clone Wars Tale**

Three Republic cruisers and a pair of Republic assault ships once again attempted to break the Separatist blockade of the planet Formulca. The  _Venator_ -class cruiser  _Avalanche_  led the assault, this time targeting the middle-left flank of the Separatist formation. The Republic assault ships  _Antrium_  and  _Aturion_  were behind the three cruisers in a trailing formation. Jedi General Reev Krish, on the  _Avalanche_ 's main bridge, watched as the Separatist ships refused to budge. He frowned, trying to get a feel for the enemy's tactics.

"Have the  _Star Flame_  pull ahead," he said, referring to first of the other two  _Venator_  cruisers. "Flank speed."

"They'll be at risk of being cut off from our support, sir," the  _Avalanche_ 's captain replied.

"I'm counting on it," the zabrak Jedi replied. "Have the assault ships move out on vector omicron-jay-seven-el."

"That angles them towards the enemy's extreme left flank. They're assault ships, not battle cruisers." Reev Krish said nothing, and the ship's captain sighed before issuing the orders.

"That's rather reckless, General," Captain Taln remarked, his helmet tucked under one arm.

"Most certainly," Krish agreed. "But we have to get through that blockade; we  _have_  to relieve Bel Rof's force."

"You said he had died," CC-4907 pointed out.

"His apprentice, Askara Jento, isn't," he replied. "And she'll need our help."

"You have sent for reinforcments, sir."

"We don't know when they'll arrive-"

"Starship exiting hyperspace!" a sensor operator called out. "Readings indicate it's a  _Venator_ -class cruiser."

"Location," Reev said, striding over to the naval clone.

"Near the Separatist task force, General," he answered. "Its approach vector shows it'll pass through or behind their battle line."

"What cruiser is it?"

"Sensor readings are inconclusive, sir."

The mysterious Republic cruiser moved in at high speed, its weapons reaching out at maximum range to engage the Separatist ships. Its dorsal launch doors opened and began releasing scores of V-19 Torrent starfighters - along with a pair of Delta-7  _Aethersprite_ s. The Republic forces began noticing something odd about their reinforcements, but it wasn't until a squadron of Torrents off the  _Avalanche_  flew by that it became clear: the cruiser and starfighters were damaged, and possibly quite heavily. And while a single cruiser with its starfighter wing weren't much in the way of reinforcements, their appearance near the CIS forces - and their arriving on a vector running behind the battle line - caused them to shift a pair of destroyers to deal with the obviously damaged ship.

And left an opening for General Reev Krish's forces.

The  _Antrium_  and  _Arturion_  boosted forward at full speed, with two of the cruisers putting themselves between the assault ships and the rest of the Sep ships, while the  _Avalanche_  moved to aid the damaged cruiser. Between the surprise assault and four cruisers, the Separatists lost both of the destroyers and two more that tried to run after the descending assault ships. Realizing their blockade had failed, thanks mostly to the appearance of the unknown cruiser, the remaining CIS ships began pulling out of Formulca's gravity well. Throughout the battle, General Krish repeatedly hailed the cruiser - but got no response.

With the Separatist ships withdrawing and the assault forces - led by Reev's own padawan, Reev had the  _Avalanche_  heave to beside the cruiser and launch gunships to land aboard as aid. This close, it was easy to see that the  _Venator_  cruiser had suffered extensive damage - old, but extensive. Part of its superstructure was open to vacuum, and gaps were evident on its hull surfaces from missing and destroyed armor plates. Its dorsal hanger doors were still open, so the gunships flew towards them.

As they approached the decrepit vessel, Reev Krish felt an unnatural chill travel down his spine - a chill that seemd imbued with the Force. In fact, the whole ship seemed to radiate and pulse with pure Force energy.  _Something isn't right here_ , he thought as the gunships touched down.

"Spread out and search the ship for survivors," Reev said, his voice muffled by the vacuum mask he wore. As the clone troopers left the hanger, the Jedi and Captain Taln led their squad to the turbolift bank that would lead to the main bridge spar. When they finally reached the bridge, they found it opened to vacuum - and the crew long dead.

"General," said Taln softly, "this is the  _Courageous_."

"What?" Reev exclaimed, turning around to face the clone captain. The blue-and-green marked clone gestured towards the wall next to the turbolift, where the ship's name plaque was. On it the words GAR COURAGEOUS.

"The  _Courageous_  was lost months ago," Reev said in a quiet voice.

"And its here now, General."

"How can that be possible? If everyone was already dead, how did it get here? How was it able to assist us?"

"I don't know, sir. Perhaps looking at the ship's logs and data centers can explain this . . . this unsettling situation." It was obvious that Captain Taln was disturbed and put off by a ship filled with thousands of his brothers - and all of them dead - that had helped them. As Reev turned back around, he saw a stunning sight. Before him, for a moment, were the Force spirits of Jedi Master Trish Kalv'ey, Jedi Knight Borv Lal'tya, and the captain of the  _Courageous_. All three saluted him before fading away - as did the Force sense permeating the starship.

"Are you alright, General?" Captain Taln asked, coming up beside him.

"Yes, Captain, I'm fine," he replied slowly. "I'm just fine."


	9. Chapter 9

** Kade Mando'ad **

**A Post-Fate of the Jedi Tale (about 200 ABY or so)**

The sounds of discharging blasters and screaming beings filled the air in this part of Formulca's rolling grasslands. The once-thriving settlement, which had been a fairly modern place, was now in firey ruins. A rumble sounded as a burned-out building succumbed to gravity and collapsed. Gutteral and mocking laughter echoed as the group of trandoshan slavers enjoyed the misery and destruction they'd caused. Their ship, an ancient and much-patched  _Sentinel_ -class Imperial Landing Craft, sat nearby, it's boarding ramp down and awaiting the panicked beings now trying to escape their destroyed town. The slavers merely guffawed and moved to start herding their captives towards the ship. Some tried to escape, but were cut down before taking a dozen steps. The inhabitants of the town were a mixed lot - humans, bothans, twi'lek, devaronians, zabraks, even a family of sullustans. One-fifth of their number was dead; most were killed in the slavers' attack, the rest while trying to escape.

"Get them on the ship now," the leader growled in rasping Basic. "Once we're full, kill anyone left." At that, a few of the potential slaves broke and ran. Each one was mowed down by more blaster bolts than was warranted - including bursts from an old heavy repeater. Once again, the trandoshans laughed at the sight.

Until the loud  _crack!_  of an archaic slugthrower followed the sight of one of the slavers' heads exploding into an expanding mass of meat and bone.

The would-be slaves screamed and tried to escape, but the trandoshans instead tried to hurry them on board the landing craft. Then came the throaty roar of an atmosphere-traversing starship, and everyone looked up to see a uniquely-shaped vessel flrying overhead - and three Mandalorians jumping out of a ventral hatch. Their jet packs flaring, the three figures descended into the mass of beings. A stun grenade flattened the remaining settlers, and made the slavers stagger back. Hitting the ground, all three pulled out weapons and began shooting the slavers. A pair of blaster pistols, a thermal detonator launcher, and a blaster carbine began kicking out fire and light. The one with the launcher roared into the air again, flying towards the landing craft. The other two began putting down the rest of the slavers.

But as their potential victims began recovering from the short-term effects fo the tun grenade, they switched to closer-range measures to take on the slavers. Holstering their weapons, both pulled out lightsabers and flicked them on with the signature  _snap-hiss_ , bringing to life green/gold and purple/gray blades. The Mandalorian with the purple blade snapped its wrist out and a bladed whip shot out of the bulky gauntlet, wrapping itself around a trandoshan's neck. Another snap of the wrist and the blade-whip returned - taking the lizard-like alien's head off in the process. The green/gold bladed Mandalorian had leapt forward, its lightsaber picking off blaster bolts while the carbine in the other hand spat bolts back, giving the slavers each a third eye. A loud  _crack!_ sounded from the  _Sentinel_  and black smoke began pouring out of its still open ramp. Within moments, the last of the slavers were dead and the lightsabers were back on their wielder's belts.

One of the settlement's surviving leaders approached the Mandalorians as the rest of the settlers returned to their town's ruins, seeing what could be salvaged. As the individual, a bothan male, approached, he saw them remove their helmets, revealing a both a male and a female human as well as a twi'lek female. The humans looked related, though it was hard to tell with them.

"Everyone alright now?" asked the human female, establishing that she was the leader - or at least was the one currently in command.

"Those that are left will be," the elder replied. "If I may ask, who are you?"

"I'm Jask Boken," she said. "This is my brother, Jorso-" she gestured to the human male "-and my girlfriend, Solus Gai." The red-skinned twi-lek nodded.

"We're very grateful for your help," the bothan told them. "We don't have much, especially now, but we'll give you what we can."

"There's no need," Jorso said, holing up a hand. "We've already been paid."

"We were contracted to curtail pirate operations in this part of the Mid Rim," Solus added. "Besides, we hate slavers. We would've done this for free."

"I don't understand," the elder admittted. "I thought-"

"That all  _Mando_  are mercenaries?" Jask finished with a grin. "And that they don't usually have lightsabers?"

"Well, yes. No offense intended, of course."

"None taken. It's a common misconception," she said as their ship came back and landed.

"Jask, the  _Gai bal Manda_  is waiting," Solus told her.

"The  _Gai bal Manda_?" the bothan echoed in surprise. "Then you're . . ."

"The  _Kade Mando'ad_ ," Jask confirmed. "The Blades of Mandalore. Goodbye, and good luck."

The three returned their helmets to their heads and strode up the ramp of their ship, which began closing as they walked into it. As the ship ascended into the air and then blasted for space, all the elderly bothan could do was shake his head in wonder.

_We were saved by members of the only group of Mandalorians that actively train and use the Force_ , he thought.


	10. Chapter 10

**Ghosts of the Force II**

**A Clone Wars Tale**

**A/N:**  This story is for DragoLord19D, in memory of his grandfather.

Captain Pythis had received orders from his Jedi general to conduct an extended reconnaissance mission far forward of friendly lines. There wasn't much intelligence on this area, so the squad would be going in blind. Orbital and aerial surveillance was no good; the planet's swampy canopy prevented sensors and eyes from seeing what was on the ground clearly. It was odd for a planet to have just one ecosystem, but the world of Namba (or as most of the locals and clones called it, 'Nam) was one big swamp from pole to pole. That wasn't to say that orbital and aerial recon was useless across the entire planet; just mainly the region that the battalion was operating in.

"Sir, we haven't seen any sign of droids anywhere," Sergeant Saw said as he walked up beside his captain. He carried his trademark rotary blaster at the ready, and his armor was - like the rest of the squads - colored in broken swamp patterns. Like most of the 4th Infantry battalion, Pythis and Saw preferred the old Mark I kit, and somehow their unit had always managed to miss the scheduled upgrades of their armors.

"Intelligence indicated a bunch of clankers were on their way to battle front, and their course would lead them right through here," Pythis replied. "Maybe they're having more trouble with the swamp than we are."

"Any idea what's so valuable about this mudball, sir?" Saw asked.

"Not my place to know, Sergeant. Not that command would tell me anyway."

The squad's scout halted and raised a hand. "Sir," he said. "I've got contacts a..."

He didn't have a chance to finish his sentence as a super battle droid blew his helmet apart with it's build-in blaster.

"SBD!" Pythis shouted. "Take cover!" The rest of the squad ducked around or behind trees as more SBDs made their way out of the trees and mists ahead. Someone called for a grenade and a thermal detonator exploded amongst the droids, destroying one SBD and knocking two more off their feet. Those two picked themselves up and started coming again, firing as they moved.

"Command, this is Cee-Cee-One-Zero-One-Zero," Pythis shouted into his helmet comm. "We've encountered the enemy and we're pinned down! Unknown number of super battle droids, possible heavy support! Need support  _now!_ "

_"Captain Pythis, this is Cee-Tee-Six-Three-One-One. The enemy has renewed their assault and we have no reinforcements available in your area."_

"Command, if we don't get reinforcements or extraction  _soon_ these SBDs are going to roll right over us!" Just then, a SBD shot another of his squad through the torso plate. With a roar of anger, Sergeant Saw whipped from around the tree he'd been using for cover, his finger tightened on the trigger of his rotary blaster. Blue blaster bolts chewed through the front ranks of SBDs and began cutting into the next rank. Saw was ducking and moving, but it was only a matter of time before he was cut down.

And just then, the very welcome sound of an LAAT/i gunship was heard. Looking up, Pythis saw a battered and scorched gunship drop out of the sky, it's heavy cannons firing into the droid forces. There was a  _clank_ fromthe rocket launchers on its back, firing two rockets into the trees, detonating something big. The emblem on its nose, just ahead of the troop compartment, was blackened and barely visible, but the legend  **Kamino's Rejects**  was still readable.

"Alright, boys," Pythis said. "looks like Command sent us some support after all. Let's send these clankers to the scrap heap!"

The surviving members of his squad rallied around Saw's defiant form and pushed forward.

After providing the much needed support, "Kamino's Rejects" had moved off, Pythis assumed to support another unit or to raise some havoc behind the lines. Another gunship arrived and carried them to the rear. The two fallen troopers were taken to the morgue, while Pythis - with Saw in tow - sought the general. When he found him, he removed his helmet and saluted.

"Thank you, sir," Pythis said.

"For what, Captain?" the Jedi asked.

"For... for the air support, sir. When my squad got pinned down..."

"Captain, you'll have to elaborate on that."

"Yes, sir. My squad encountered a superior force of Super Battle Droids during our extended recon. I lost one trooper immediately, and a second one after I called in for support."

"That transmission was logged but we didn't have any gunships or troops available at that time."

"But General. A gunship  _did_  arrive to support us. It bought us the time we needed to regroup and push back the droids."

"Captain, there  _weren't_  any gunships-" The Jedi paused. "What was the gunship's transponder code?"

"It's transponder and comms seemed to be damaged, sir. It's hull legend, though, read 'Kamino's Rejects.'"

"Captain," the Jedi said, his expression strange, "the gunship you're referring to, 'Kamino's Rejects,' was shot down a  _month_ ago supporting a commando squad, the crew killed during the engagement. Are you  _absolutely_  sure about the hull legend?"

"Everybody in my squad got it on their helmet recorders, sir."

"By the Force..." the Jedi breathed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story was inspired by this little tidbit:
> 
> Ma grandda use ta tell a story like GotF, he and his squad were LRRPing in 'Nam when they came under heavy fire. They were almost overrun when a gunship showed up & started laying down fire, after they got back ta base he went lookin' for the chopper crew ta buy them a drink. He found out later the chopper 'Heaven's Rejects' had been shot down, all the crew killed, giving a squad of marines cover the month before...


End file.
